Sweeney Buffy?
by Ceresxthexstar
Summary: The tragic story of Sweeney Todd is retold by the characters of Buffy. Featuring Eliza Buffy as Sweeney Todd, William (Spike) Pratt as Mrs. Lovett, Faith Lehane as Judge Turpin as well as many other memorable characters
1. No Place like London

Dawn, a young sailor of about 20, is standing at the rail of a ship, The obscure shape of rigging and sails is seen behind her. The cries of sailors echo in the distance. Behind her stand a gentleman and a banker. They are looking past Dawn, looking at something. They move away as Dawn peers through the fog, straining to see...

London.

Gradually, as the ship approaches, the towering spires and mountainous rooftops of the city begin to stand out in relief, to emerge through the fog like a tiger creeping toward its continues as Dawn takes in the dreadful and magnificent spectacle of the 19th Century metropolis. The gnarl of rooftops. The labyrinth of streets and alleys. The black trails of smoke reaching up like skeletal fingers from  
a thousand chimneys.

London. Sulfurous London.

Dawn is awestruck.

_Dawn_

_"I have sailed the world, beheld its wonders _

_From the Dardanelles _

_To the mountains of Peru,_

_But there's no place like London-!"_

Then-

_Buffy_  
_"No, there's no place like London."_

"Miss Buffy...?"

_Buffy_  
_"You are young._  
_Life has been kind to you._  
_You will learn."_

Buffy glares forward, her haunted gaze never leaving the approaching city. Music continues as Buffy stands very still and takes in the shadowy figures on the docks. Dawn seems almost lost at her side, overwhelmed by the scale and aura of the city. Dawn speaks out of amazement, "Lord ... takes your breath away, doesn't it?" Buffy shudders violently, almost snarling.

_Buffy_

_"There's a hole in the world_

_Like a great black pit_

_And the vermin of the world_

_Inhabit it_

_And its morals aren't worth_

_What a pig could spit_

_And it goes by the name Of London._

_At the top of the hole_

_Sit the privileged few_

_Making mock of the vermin_

_In the lower zoo,_

_Turning beauty into filth and greed._

_I too_

_Have sailed the world, and seen its wonders_

_For the cruelty of men_

_Is as wondrous as Peru,_

_But there's no place like London!"_

Dawn looks at her friend, mystified by her grim reaction to the city. Buffy suddenly breaks the silence"I beg your indulgence, Dawn ... My mind is far from easy. In these once familiar streets I feel shadows everywhere..." "Shadows...?" "Ghosts." Dawn looking at her, questioning. Buffy continues quietly:

_Buffy_

_"There was a barber and her mate,_

_And he was beautiful,_

_A foolish barber and her mate, _

_He was her reason and her life, _

_And he was beautiful, _

_And he was virtuous. _

_And she was..._

_Naive_."

Dawn watches, rapt, as Buffy remembers...

...Fifteen years before.

Buffy walks with her handsome husband Angel through a crowded flower market, a colorful explosion of blossoms. Angel carries their one-year-old baby, Frederick. Buffy is almost unrecognizable to us, content and smiling. Chatting with her husband. Happy.

_Buffy (V.O.)_  
_"There was another one who saw_  
_That he was beautiful,_  
_A pious vulture of the law,_  
_Who with a gesture of her claw_  
_Removed the barber from her plate._  
_Then there was nothing but to wait_  
_And he would fall,_  
_So soft,_  
_So young,_  
_So lost,_  
_And oh, so beautiful!"_

During the above, Judge Lehane, an elderly woman with a saturnine demeanor, eyes Angel through the luxurious bunches of flowers. She stalks him, desiring him. With the Judge is her nefarious creature, Beadle Bamford. The Beadle is a large man, his florid nature and pink, powdered face never quite disguising his legality. The Judge whispers to the Beadle, indicating Buffy. Then the Beadle and several policemen sweep in and drag Buffy off. The Judge moves in on Angel like a predator. And we return to...

"And the gentleman, ma'am ... did he succumb?" Dawn says.

_Buffy_  
_"Oh, that was many years ago..._  
_I doubt if anyone would know."_

The ship docks, and passengers leave; scattering to the ends of London like rats. "I owe you my life, Dawn. If you hadn't spotted me, I would be lost on the ocean still ... Thank you." Buffy picks up her duffel bag, preparing to go. "Will I see you again?" "You might find me, if you like, around Fleet Street." "Until then, my friend." She offers her hand. Buffy takes it and shakes. Then Buffy quickly turns and goes. Dawn stands for a moment, saddened by the mysterious pall that hangs over her friend. Buffy strides along, deep in thought. The emotions roiling within her finally seethe out in a dark mutter:

_Buffy_  
_"There's a hole in the world_  
_Like a great black pit_  
_And it's filled with people _  
_Who are filled with shit _  
_And the vermin of the world _  
_Inhabit it..."_

She disappears down the street as the music THUNDERS-


	2. The Worst Pies in London

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Buffy or Sweeney Todd [despite how much I want to, I would fix that squalid excuse for a season 8-] anyway.. Buffy is a bit twisted, but you know this is basically how I picture her in the future; who doesn't want to see an insane evil Buffy? ...really? Is it just me? Whatever. I thought Spike would be perfect for the role of Mrs. Lovett! I had trouble trying to figure out who was going to play Toby, but then Dawn was already taken so I just made someone up...sorry.. Anyway! Please enjoy this mixture of my two favorite things!

* * *

Zooming ahead of Buffy - cutting through the city at lightning pace down twisting alleys and up crowded boulevards - into tunnels and over bridges - slashing through London at breakneck speed - the insane explosion of music sending us hurtling to-

Fleet Street.

The exterior of Mr. Pratt's pie shop is seen. It is tatty and unloved by all. Yet it has a strange, ghostly presence to it. Imposing and dead at the same time. There is an exterior staircase leading up to a darkened second floor room with a window overlooking the street. The music slows and continues as we see Buffy, standing in front of the shop, considering it deeply. The general we saw before passes, glancing at Buffy. Here and then gone. Buffy finally strides to the shop and enters...

Behind the dusty counter is... Mr. Pratt, a venal, vigorous and slatternly man in his 30's. He is currently busy chopping a loathsome mess of suet with a wicked looking knife, his bleached hair combed out of his face. The moment Buffy enters - and the bell at the door sounds - his head snaps up and his eyes are on her like a bird of prey: "A customer!" Buffy, startled, starts to go-

_Mr. Pratt_  
_"Wait! What's yer rush? _  
_What's yer hurry?"_  
_(He sticks the knife into _  
_the counter)_  
_"You gave me such a-_  
_(Wipes his hands on his _  
_apron) )_  
_Fright. I thought you was a ghost._  
_Half a minute, can'tcher? _  
_Sit! _  
_Sit ye down!"_  
_(An order)_

_"Sit!"_

_(She obeys)_

_"All I meant is that I_  
_Haven't seen a customer for weeks._  
_Did you come here for a pie, ma'am?"_  
_(Buffy nods. He flicks a _  
_bit of dust off a pie _  
_with a rag)_  
_"Do forgive me if me head's a little vague-_  
_Ugh!"_  
_(He plucks something off _  
_the pie, examines it)_  
_"What is that?_  
_But you'd think we had the plague-"_  
_(He drops it on the floor _  
_and stamps on it)_

_"From the way that people-_  
_(He flicks something off _  
_the pie with his finger) _  
_Keep avoiding-_  
_(Spotting it moving)_  
_No, you don't!"_  
_(He smacks it with his _  
_hand)_  
_"Heaven knows I try, ma'am!_  
_(Lifts his hand, looks at _  
_it)_  
_Tsk!"_  
_(He wipes it on the edge _  
_of the counter)_  
_"But there's no one comes in even to inhale-_

_"Tsk!_  
_(He blows the last dust _  
_off the pie as he brings _  
_it to her)_  
_Right you are, ma'am. Would you like a drop of ale?"_  
_(Buffy nods)_  
_"Mind you, I can't hardly blame them-_  
_(Pouring a tankard of ale)_  
_These are probably the worst pies in London._  
_I know why nobody cares to take them-_  
_I should know, _  
_I make them. _  
_But good? No,_  
_The worst pies in London-_  
_Even that's polite._  
_The worst pies in London-_  
_If you doubt it, take a bite."_  
_(She does. It's horrible)_  
_"Is that just disgusting? _  
_You have to concede it. _  
_It's nothing but crusting-_  
_Here, drink this, you'll need it-_  
_(He gives her the ale)_  
_The worst pies in London."_

During the following, he slams lumps of dough on the counter and rolls them out, grunting frequently as he goes:

_Mr. Pratt_  
_"And no wonder with the price of meat_  
_What it is-_  
_(Grunt)_  
_When you get it._  
_(Grunt)_  
_Never_  
_(Grunt)_  
_Thought I'd live to see the day _  
_Men'd think it was a treat_  
_Finding poor_  
_(Grunt)_  
_Animals_  
_(Grunt)_  
_Wot are dying in the street._  
_Mrs. Mooney has a pie shop,_  
_Does a business, but I noticed something weird-_  
_Lately all her neighbors' cats have disappeared._  
_(Shrugs)_  
_Have to hand it to her-_  
_Wot I calls _  
_Wouldn't do in my shop-_  
_Just the thought of it's enough to make you sick._  
_Enterprise,_  
_Popping pussies into pies. "_

_"And I'm telling you them pussy cats is quick._  
_(Leans on counter, _  
_exhausted)_  
_No denying times is hard, sir - Even harder than_  
_The worst pies in London._  
_Only lard and nothing more-_  
_(As Buffy gamely tries _  
_another mouthful)_  
_Is that just revolting?_  
_All greasy and gritty,_  
_It looks like it's molting, _  
_And tastes like-_  
_Well, pity_  
_A woman alone_  
_With limited wind_  
_And the worst pies in London!_  
_(Sighs heavily)_  
_Ah ma'am,_  
_Times is hard. Times is hard."_

He finishes one of the crusts with a flourish as the music ends. Buffy, meanwhile, is gulping at her ale, trying to wash down Mr. Pratt's hideous creation. William looks towards Buffy, "Trust me, pet, it's going to take more than ale to wash that taste out. Come with me and we'll get you a nice tumbler of gin. He leads her through the curtains at the back of the pie shop and into his parlor is a wonder of seedy faux-middle class Victoriana. Little knickknacks, dusty plants and dingy doilies. There is a threadbare mauve sofa in front of a comfortable fire. A faded picture postcard of the seaside hangs on a wall. He goes to a sideboard and pours her a huge glass of gin as: "Isn't this homey now? Me cheery wallpaper was a real bargain too, it being only partly singed when the chapel burnt down ..." He hands her the gin. She gulps it down, washing the taste of his pie out of her mouth. "There's a good girl, now you sit down and warm your bones, you look chilled through."

She sits before the fire; "Isn't that a room over the shop? If times are so hard, why don't you rent it out?" He glances up at the roof, considering the room over them. "Up there? Oh, no one will go near it..." He turns to her, something a little intense and probing about his gaze. "People think it's haunted." "Haunted?" He holds her gaze. William pauses before saying, "And who's to say they're wrong? ... You see, years ago, something happened up there. Something not very nice..."

The flickering flame from the fire begins to cast a more intense red glow on his face...

_Mr. Pratt_  
_"There was a barber and her mate,_  
_And she was beautiful,_  
_A proper artist with a knife,_  
_But they transported her for life._  
_(Sighs)_  
_And she was beautiful..."_

The music continues as he looks at her, again with that rather intense gaze: "Summers, her name was - Elizabeth Summers." "Transported? What was her crime?" With an edge in his voice, "Foolishness." He turns again to the fire, the red glow bathing his face as he remembers... Angel is pacing, holding Baby Frederick to him closely. Angel is distraught, strained, tears in his eyes. As Angel paces we notice the room is full of dead and dying flowers: dozens of dried bouquets tossed aside and ignored.

_Mr. Pratt (V.O.)_  
_"She had this man, you see, _  
_Pretty little thing, _  
_Silly little nit_  
_Had his chance for the moon on a string-_  
_Poor thing. Poor thing."_

_"Ah, but there was worse yet to come, _  
_Poor thing."_

Angel moves to the window, looks out. He sees Judge Lehane and the Beadle waiting below. The Judge holds yet another bouquet.

_Mr. Pratt (V.O.)_  
_"There was this Judge, you see,_  
_Wanted him like mad,_  
_Every day she'd send him a flower,_  
_But did he come down from his tower?_  
_Sat up there and sobbed by the hour,_  
_Poor fool."_

Angel moves away from the window, anger evident.

_Mr. Pratt (V.O.)_  
_"Ah, but there was worse yet to come, _  
_Poor thing."_

The Beadle is leading a nervous Angel along an exclusive street of dark stone mansions, grand but somehow menacing. Angel is wearing his best suit.

_Mr. Pratt (V.O.)_  
_"The Beadle calls on him, all polite,_  
_Poor thing, poor thing._  
_The Judge, he tells him, is all contrite,_  
_She blames herself for his dreadful plight_  
_He must come straight to her house tonight!_  
_Poor thing, poor thing."_

The Beadle ushers Angel into a ballroom. He is shocked to see a fancy-dress ball in progress. Masked couples swirl around the ballroom, their number sinisterly multiplied by the distorting mirrors that frame the room. The hanging chandeliers, draped in red cloth, cast a disquieting incarnadine glow on the proceedings...

_Mr. Pratt (V.O.)_  
_"Of course, when he goes there,_  
_Poor thing, poor thing,_  
_They're having this ball all in masks."_

Angel wanders lost through the swirling dancers, they buffet him, confusing him...

_Mr. Pratt (V.O.)_  
_"There's no one he knows there,_  
_Poor dear, poor thing,_  
_He wanders tormented, and drinks,_  
_Poor thing._  
_The Judge has repented, he thinks,_  
_Poor thing._  
_"Oh, where is Judge Lehane?" he asks."_

The Beadle finds Angel again and graciously gives him his arm, leading him through the party. He is thankful for the salvation he provides. He brings him to Judge Lehane.

The Judge descends on Angel, raping him. The other guests crowd around ravenously, enjoying the spectacle. A feverish nightmare.

_Mr. Pratt (V.O.)_  
_"She was there, all right-_  
_Only not so contrite!_  
_He wasn't no match for such craft, you see,_

_And everyone thought it so droll._

_They figured she had to be daft, you see,_

_So all of 'em stood there and laughed, you see,_

_Poor soul!_

_Poor thing!"_

"NOOOOOOOO...!"

Buffy's wild howl shatters the memory and tears us back to-

-Buffy is bolting up from the sofa, tormented-

"... NOOOOOO!" She stands for a terrible beat. "Would no one have mercy on him?"

"So it is you - Elizabeth Summers." "Where's Angel?! Where's my husband?!" Buffy inquires. A grim look paints William's face, "He poisoned himself. Arsenic from the apothecary on the corner. I tried to stop him but he wouldn't listen to me. And she's got your son." "She? Judge Lehane?"

"Adopted him like her own."

Buffy absorbs this sickening news. "Fifteen years of sweating in a living hell on a false charge. Fifteen years dreaming that I might come home to find a loving husband and child..." A beat as she stares into the fire, madness and purpose creeping in.

"Well, I can't say the years have been particularly kind to you, Miss Summers, but you still-"

"No, not Summers. That woman is dead. It's Buffy now. Eliza Buffy ... And she will have her revenge."

She continues with a chilling and quiet resolve as she stares with unblinking eyes into the fire: "Judge Lehane and the Beadle will pay for what they did." A beat. She finally turns to him.

She states is a matter of fact tone, "First I must have my shop back."


	3. My Friends

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Sweeney Todd or Buffy the vampire Slayer. Angel's role as Lucy was kind of comical. I'm not saying rape is funny at all; but just the fact that the real Angel wouldn't be sobbing or even allow anyone to treat him that way is what made me laugh. While writing this I pictured Angel and Spike to be watching this play. Angel was having irritated face while Spike was laughing up a storm.

* * *

They emerge from the pie shop. He begins to scale the exterior staircase to the darkened second floor room. She hesitates.

"Come along..."

He continues up, she slowly follows. A macabre shroud of dust and spider's webs. Furniture covered in sheets. A broken mirror on one wall.

We hear footsteps approaching and then Mr. Pratt enters. The door creaks like a living thing. "Not to worry, a touch of oil will put that right." He turns to Buffy, "... Nothing to be afraid of, love, come in."

He moves into the room. But Buffy hesitates at the door, looking into the room. For her this is a truly haunted place.

Meanwhile, he kneels and pries loose a floorboard. Underneath there is a hidden area. Within that, something covered with a velvet cloth. He removes it and carefully unwraps it. His touch is particularly gentle and respectful. We discover it is a fine leather case. He looks at it for a beat. Then turns to her, dusting it off.

"I don't believe it..."

Buffy finally steps into the room, drawn toward the case.

"When they came for the boy, I hid 'em. I thought, who knows? Maybe the silly blighter'll be back again. Cracked in the head, wasn't I?"

Haunting music begins as he opens the case... And we see it contains a beautiful set of razors. She stands for a long moment, gazing down at her beloved razors.

"Those handles is chased silver, ain't they?" Mr. Pratt gawks.

"Silver, yes..."

_Buffy_  
_"These are my friends,_  
_See how they glisten._  
_(She picks up a small _  
_razor)_  
_See this one shine,_  
_How he smiles in the light._  
_My friend, my faithful friend._  
_(Holding it to her ear, _  
_feeling the edge with her _  
_thumb) )_  
_Speak to me friend, _  
_Whisper, I'll listen._  
_(Listening)_  
_I know, I know-_  
_You've been locked out of sight _  
_All these years-_  
_Like me, my friend. _  
_Well, I've come home _  
_To find you waiting."_

_"Home,_  
_And we're together, _  
_And we'll do wonders, _  
_Won't we?"_

Mr. Pratt leans over her, in his own kind of trance as well. They now sing simultaneously:

_Buffy_  
_(Picking out a larger _  
_razor)_  
_"You there, my friend,_  
_Come, let me hold you._  
_Now, with a sigh _  
_You grow warm _  
_In my hand, _  
_My friend,_  
_My clever friend._  
_(Putting it back)_  
_Rest now, my friends._  
_Soon I'll unfold you._  
_Soon you'll know splendors_  
_You never have dreamed_  
_All your days-"_

_Mr. Pratt_  
_"I'm your friend too, Miss Buffy. _  
_If you only knew, Miss Buffy-_  
_Ooh, Miss Buffy, _  
_You're warm _  
_In my hand._  
_You've come home._  
_Always had a fondness for you,_  
_I did."_

_Buffy_  
_"-My lucky friends. _  
_Till now your shine _  
_Was merely silver. _  
_Friends,_  
_You shall drip rubies, _  
_You'll soon drip precious _  
_Rubies..."_

_Mr. Pratt_  
_"Never you fear, Miss Buffy,_  
_You can move in here, Miss Buffy. _  
_Splendors you never have dreamed _  
_All your days _  
_Will be yours. _  
_I'm your friend."_

_And you're mine._  
_Don't they shine beautiful? _  
_Silver's good enough for me, _  
_Miss Buffy..."_

The music continues quietly as Buffy stares at one of her razors.

"Leave me now..."

William goes. Buffy finally picks up her biggest razor and slowly opens it, looks at it.

"At last my arm is complete again!"

And she remains standing. Exalted.

Buffy pulls a sheet off Baby Frederick's cradle. A cloud of dust rises. The ghosts disappear in the cloud of dust and Buffy stands alone, staring at the cradle, holding her razor.

"I wonder who the real monsters are."

* * *

Dawn, now out of her sailor's uniform, is walking along the sidewalk near the Judge's mansion, absorbed in a copy of Baedeker's London. She stops, lost, trying to get her bearings, studying her map.

Then an unusual sound emerges through the normal cosmopolitan bustle. It is the sound of a woman humming. She looks up to see...

Frederick, a 16-year-old boy with dark hair, beautiful and hauntingly sad. He sits at his window above, behind bars, humming to himself as he carves wood.

Dawn watches him, absolutely mesmerized.

Frederick notices a Bird Seller passing. He carries a long, wooden pole with little bird cages attached.

_Frederick_  
_"Green finch and linnet bird,_  
_Nightingale, blackbird,_  
_How is it you sing?_  
_How can you jubilate,_  
_Sitting in cages,_  
_Never taking wing?_  
_Outside the sky waits,_  
_Beckoning, beckoning,_  
_Just beyond the bars._  
_How can you remain,_  
_Staring at the rain,_  
_Maddened by the stars?_  
_How is it you sing_  
_Anything?_  
_How is it you sing?"_

Then ... he sees Dawn on the sidewalk below.

Music continues. There is a long look between them. His intense, melancholy expression moves her. He continues singing, the strange anguish and yearning of  
his words seem intended only for her...

_Frederick_  
_"My cage has many rooms,_  
_Damask and dark._  
_Nothing there sings,_  
_Not even my lark._  
_Larks never will, you know,_  
_When they're captive."_

_Teach me to be more adaptive._  
_Green finch and linnet bird,_  
_Nightingale, blackbird,_  
_Teach me how to sing._  
_If I cannot fly,_  
_Let me sing."_

Then he turns away quickly, alarmed, when someone enters his room. He looks terrified. Below, Dawn is concerned for him. She sees him move from the window.

She is craning to see better when a beggar man - a filthy tendril of a man, his foul clothes of rags like a second skin - suddenly thrusts his arm up from the curb, imploring:

_BEGGAR MAN_  
_"Alms! ... Alms! ..._  
_For a miserable man_  
_On a miserable chilly morning..._  
_(Dawn drops a coin into _  
_his hand)_  
_Thank yer, ma'am, thank yer."_

"Ma'am, could tell me whose house this is?" Dawn questions.

"That's the great Judge Lehane's house that is."

"And the young lord who resides there?"

"That's Frederick, her pretty little ward. Keeps him snug, she does, all locked up ... So don't you go trespassing there or it's a good whipping for you - or any other young woman with mischief on her mind..."

He suddenly leers into a lewd and demented assault:

_BEGGAR MAN_  
_"'Ow would you like a little muff, dear,_  
_A little jig jig_  
_A little bounce around the bush? _  
_Wouldn't you like to push me parsley?_

_It looks to me, dear,_  
_Like you got plenty there to push."_

He grabs at Dawn's crotch - Dawn starts back - he turns away, instantly plaintive again, and appeals to other pedestrians as he goes:

_BEGGAR MAN_  
_"Alms! ... Alms!..._  
_For a desperate man..."_

Dawn considers the mansion. She sees a figure standing at a window, unclear behind the shutters, watching her.

She sits on a bench outside the mansion and sings quietly:

_Dawn_  
_"I feel you,_  
_Frederick,_  
_I feel you._  
_I was half convinced I'd waken, _  
_Satisfied enough to dream you. _  
_Happily I was mistaken, Frederick!_  
_I'll steal you,_  
_Frederick,_  
_I'll steal you..."_

Then the figure disappears from the window above. Dawn stands, waits. Then the doors to the mansion swing open...

Dawn is expecting Frederick...

But it is Judge Lehane, the predator we met in Buffy's flashback, who steps into the doorway. She seems a different woman now. Paternal and warm, she smiles and beckons to Dawn.

Dawn hesitates, unsure. The Judge beckons again. Again the warm smile.

"Come in, lass. Come in..."

Dawn goes into the mansion.

* * *

I'm sorry that Angel is so out of character; but since he was Buffy's first love and I wanted to focus on how vengeful she couldv'e become over her love for Angel. Also, I suggest listening to the songs when they come up. I know that helps when I read song fics.


	4. Frederick

**Just got back from Anime Detour this week, and oh my god it was so awesome! I got to meet so many beautiful people, and I'm definitely going to cosplay as Seras Victoria from Hellsing Ultimate next year! Now if you excuse me, I'm going to read all the manga I bought.**

* * *

Judge Faith Lehane leads Dawn into the dark library, filled with books. Dawn is looking around for Frederick. She is wary, this is all very strange.

"... you were looking for Hyde Park, you say?" The Judge inquired. "Yes, it's terribly large on the map but I keep getting lost..."

"Sit down, lass, sit down."

Dawn sits, uncomfortable, as the Judge pours two snifters of brandy. "It's embarrassing for a sailor to lose their bearings, but, well, there you are."

Then...

The large form of the Beadle appears from the shadows. No introduction is made. Dawn glances to him, uneasy.

"A sailor, eh?" Faith says.

"Yes, ma'am. The "Bountiful" out of Plymouth."

Handing her a snifter of brandy,

"A sailor must know the ways of the world, yes? ... Must be practiced in the ways of the world ... Would you say you are practiced, girl?"

"Ma'am?" Dawn asks.

The Judge moves to consider some beautiful volumes, bound in the richest leather. She runs a finger along the spines of the books; her large library of pornography. "Oh, yes ... such practices ... the geishas of Japan ... the concubines of Siam .. the catamites of Greece ... the harlots of India ... I have them all here ... Drawings of them ..." Faith speaks dreamily. She turns again to Dawn.

"... All the vile things you've done as a two cent whore"

Dawn is speechless. The Judge just smiles at her amiably. "Would you like to see?"

"I think there's been some mistake-" Dawn says, now standing.

"Oh, I think not. You gandered at my ward, Frederick ... You gandered at him ... Yes, lass, you** gandered**."

The Beadle moves behind Dawn. She was glancing nervously back at the Beadle,"I meant no harm-" "Your meaning is immaterial. Mark me: if I see your face again on this street, you'll rue the day your bitch of a mother gave you birth." Dawn is stunned. The Judge proceeds with shocking venom:

"My Frederick isn't one of your bloody cock-chafers! My Frederick** is not to be ****gandered at!" **She nods to the Beadle - the Beadle instantly grabs Dawn and brutally hauls her out.

* * *

The Beadle drags Dawn through a rear door of the mansion and flings her into a filthy alley.

Dawn pulls herself up. Stunned.

"Hyde Park is that way, young miss ... A right and then a left, then straight on, you see? ..." He points, "... Over there."

Flustered, Dawn turns to look-

The instant Dawn's back is turned, the Beadle swings his lethal billyclub and SLAMS her from behind brutally, in the kidneys - Dawn's knees buckle-  
The Beadle then SLAMS Dawn across the back of the neck -She falls hard-The Beadle then uses one dainty foot to roll her over-Dawn gazes up at him, panting for breath, in agony-

"You heard Judge Lehane, little girl." He presses the end of his billyclub into Dawn's forehead, grinding it hard- "Next time it'll be your pretty brains all over the pavement." With that, the Beadle returns to the mansion and slams the door.

Dawn slowly pulls herself to her knees, doubled over, coughing up blood. A long beat as Dawn gets her breath, wiping blood from her face.

Still doubled over, she sings with burning intensity:

_Dawn_  
_"I'll steal you,_  
_Frederick,_  
_I'll steal you!_  
_Do they think that walls can hide you? _  
_Even now I'm at your window. _  
_I am in the dark beside you,_  
_Buried sweetly in your raven hair."_

She pulls herself up, every movement is agony. She makes her way down the alley, leaning on the wall for support. The music swells as Dawn emerges from the dark alley into the bright sunlight. She makes her way along the sidewalk:

_Dawn_  
_"I feel you, Frederick, _  
_And one day I'll steal you._  
_Till I'm with you then,_  
_I'm with you there,_  
_Sweetly buried in your raven hair..."_

The soaring music continues as Dawn stops at a park across the street from Lehane's mansion, bravely gazing up at Frederick's window.

* * *

Eliza Buffy and Mr. Pratt are moving quickly, she struggles to keep up with his long, loping stride. She carries her razor case, he carries a shopping basket.

"He's here every Thursday?" Buffy asks.

"Like clockwork. Eyetalian. All the rage he is."

"Not for long."

They round a corner and move into the bustling marketplace. A steady mercantile hum as the cries of merchants and wandering coster-mongers fill the air. Buffy and Mr. Pratt move toward a hand-drawn caravan dominating one corner of the marketplace. It is painted like a Sicilian donkey cart and on its side a sign declaims:

"Signor Adolfo Pirelli - Haircutter to His Royal Majesty the King of Naples."

"Oh Miss B., do you really think you can do it?"

"By tomorrow they'll all be flocking to me like sheep to be shorn-"

She stops abruptly when she sees the Beadle casually strolling through the crowd. Buffy is transfixed, her ancient enemy so close. William sees the Beadle, and tugs on Buffy's arm.

"Come along now, dear, he might recognize you-"

"I will do what I have vowed to do ..." She continues to glare at the Beadle, her voice low, "... Come closer, my friend, closer..."

Then, Cosette - a 13-year-old girl, a bit small for her age, malnourished and consumptively pale - emerges from Pirelli's caravan. She bangs on a tin drum, drawing customers. A crowd begins to gather at the caravan as:

_Cosette_  
_"Ladies and gentlemen!_  
_May I have your attention, perlease?_  
_Do you wake every morning in shame and despair _  
_To discover your pillow is covered with hair _  
_Wot ought not to be there?_  
_Well, ladies and gentlemen,_  
_From now on you can waken at ease._  
_You need never again have a worry or care, _  
_I will show you a miracle marvelous rare, _  
_Gentlemen, you are about to see something wot rose _  
_from the dead!"_  
_(A woman gasps, she smiles _  
_and wiggles a finger no)_  
_"On the top of my head."_

She dramatically doffs her cap, revealing mountains of hair which cascade to her shoulder.

_Cosette_  
_"'Twas Pirelli's_  
_Miracle Elixir,_  
_That's wot did the trick, sir, _  
_True, sir, true. _  
_Was it quick, sir?_  
_Did it in a tick, sir? _  
_Just like an elixir _  
_Ought to do!_  
_(To a Bald Man)_  
_How about a bottle, mister?_  
_Only costs a penny, guaranteed."_  
_(Pours a drop on the bald _  
_man's head)_

_"Does Pirelli's_  
_Stimulate the growth, sir? _  
_You can have my oath, sir, _  
_'Tis unique._  
_(Applies the bald man's _  
_hand to the wet spot)_  
_Rub a minute, _  
_Stimulatin', i'n it?_

_Soon you'll have to thin it_  
_Once a week!"_

More customers are stepping up and buying bottles. Buffy opens a bottle of the Elixir, takes a whiff. Disgusting. She smiles to Mr. Pratt, her plan falling into place.

_Buffy_  
_(loudly, to Mr. Pratt)_  
_"Pardon me, sir, what's that awful stench?"_

_Mr. Pratt_  
_"Are we standing near an open trench?"_

_Buffy_  
_(to a woman in the crowd)_  
_"Must be standing near an open trench!"_

The crowd responds to Buffy and Mr. Pratt, looking askance and sniffing at the bottles. Cosette nervously tries to distract them:

_Cosette_  
_"Buy Pirelli's Miracle Elixir: _  
_Anything wot's slick, sir, _  
_Soon sprouts curls. _  
_Try Pirelli's!_  
_When they see how thick, sir, _  
_You can have your pick, sir, _  
_Of the girls!_  
_Want to buy a bottle, missus?"_

_Buffy_  
_(sniffing bottle of _  
_Elixir)_  
_"What is this?"_

_Mr. Pratt_  
_(sniffing another _  
_customer's bottle)_  
_"What is this?"_

_Buffy_  
_"Smells like piss"_

_Mr. Pratt_  
_"Smells like - phew!"_

_Buffy_  
_"This is piss. Piss with ink."_

The music speeds up - Cosette is getting desperate:

_Cosette_  
_"Let Pirelli's_  
_Activate your roots, sir-"_

_Buffy_  
_"Keep it off your boots, sir-_  
_Eats right through."_

_Cosette_  
_"Yes, get Pirelli's!_  
_Use a bottle of it!_  
_Ladies seem to love it-"_

_Mr. Pratt_  
_"Flies do too!"_

Suddenly, the curtains on the caravan are dramatically flung wide to reveal-

Pirelli, a flamboyant Italian with a velvet suit, thick wavy hair and a dazzling smile. Pirelli poses splendidly for a moment. Then:

_Pirelli_  
_"I am Adolfo Pirelli,_  
_Da king of da barbers, da barber of kings, _  
_E buon giorno, good day, _  
_I blow you a kiss!"_  
_(he does so)_  
_"And I, da so-famous Pirelli,_  
_I wish-a to know-a_  
_Who has-a da nerve-a to say _  
_My elixir is piss! _  
_Who says this?!"_

Silence.

"I do." Buffy moves forward boldly.

"I am Miss Eliza Buffy of Fleet Street. I have opened a bottle of Pirelli'selixir, and I say to you that it is nothing but an arrant fraud, concocted from piss and ink."

The crowd gasps. Pirelli is about to respond, outraged, but Buffy continues-

"And furthermore - 'signor' - I have serviced no kings, yet I wager I can shave a cheek with ten times more dexterity that any street mountebank."

She snaps open her razor case and holds it up for the crowd to see, turning to display the wondrous razors:

"You see these razors?"

"The finest in England." William says to the crowd.

While glaring at Pirelli, "I lay them against five pounds you are no match for me. You hear me, sir? Either accept my challenge or reveal yourself as a sham."

* * *

**Yes. I know this was a truly lamentable place to stop, but I'm tired. Also Le Mis fans did you catch my little Easter egg? I wanted Toby to be gender swapped and I needed a two syllable name. In reality, Cosette and Toby are not alike,and have nothing in common except their name. Good night while I go and find things to do other than my homework!**


End file.
